


Turnabout

by coffeehousehaunt



Series: The Fine Art of Not Killing Your Road Trip Buddy [2]
Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Biting, Character Study, F/F, Flashbacks, Hatesex, PWP, Porn and Feelings, Really Bad Ideas, Road Trips, Semi-Public Sex, Sex while driving, Valkubus - Freeform, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehousehaunt/pseuds/coffeehousehaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "Forty-First Time's the Charm". It's exactly what it sounds like. Tamsin tops Bo. Or tries really hard to. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

> This piece split off from a piece I wrote for the Lost Girl Kink Meme on Tumblr. The prompt just kept going. I considered having this be part of the first one, but it didn't seem to fit. It took on a decidedly different tone than the first part.

"Oh, no." Bo's laughing, but rage is pouring off her in waves as she stalks around the truck to the driver's side. She slams her palm on the door, holding it shut. Tamsin lets go of the handle and turns back to her with a grimace, holding in her swing. It helps that she's holding a bottle of vodka in that hand, though she's definitely hit people with a bottle in hand without damaging the really important stuff. "You are not drinking and driving while I'm in the car." 

"Dude, why d'you care? I'm not even buzzed." She seriously needed a drink after their stunt earlier, and this just proves why. She wants to strangle Bo when she does this--acts like she cares. Because she knows it's not an act. And somehow, Bo feels like that means she gets a say in what Tamsin does, because she's "concerned". It's enough to drive Tamsin _to_ drinking, so she figures she's entitled to drive _while_ drinking. Besides, she wasn't _intending_ to drink and drive; she'd just never considered letting Bo drive, even if she was drinking. "Swear to god, you're like a mother hen." 

"Uh, cause if you crash and kill me, I will come back and _murder_ you, smartass. This has nothing to do with me _caring_ about you." Bo shoots back viciously. 

She has to roll her eyes, as much at Bo as at the sinking feeling in her chest. Bo has her beat. "Yeah, whatever." She digs the keys out of her pocket and dangles them in Bo's direction. "One scratch, succubus, and I will roast you on a spit and eat you." 

Bo smirks as she snatches the keys out of Tamsin's hand. "Well, I promise I'll taste good." 

If _that_ doesn't give her something to occupy her brain with til the buzz kicks in. 

Drunk is the only way Tamsin rides if she's not in the driver's seat. There are few things more pathetic than a carsick Valkyrie, and if Bo sees _that_ , she just might have to kill herself, mission or no. 

It takes her longer than she'd like to feel the alcohol--always does--but eventually, the roadside is an unpleasant but bearable blur. Bo's not a bad driver; something about she grew up in the country. 

Still, she can feel the tension creeping in around the edges, turning the long grass and trees into gnarling hands and grinning screaming skeletal faces and--

Tamsin yanks her gaze to the dash and takes a deep swig from the bottle, trying to still the shaking in her hands. This is getting a little too vivid, and she's not drunk enough yet. 

She glances over at Bo, who looks back. Of course she looks back. With an expression of mild concern and curiosity on her face. Goddammit. Can't a girl look around without getting pity? The vodka starts to go sour in her mouth. Fuck. Another swig. If she doesn't come up with something else to do soon, she's gonna have to hurl. And then she'll have to hurl herself out the door after her vomit. She imagines Bo's expression of slack-faced surprise and her mouth twists into a shape that's a shitty approximation of a smile. It's not like it's hard to shock her--baby fae--but it's always a fun expression to see. 

She finds herself looking over at Bo again, and this time, Bo keeps her eyes on the road, though Tamsin thinks she can see a tic starting in one eyelid from the effort. Works for her. Tamsin lets herself check Bo out for a moment, gaze wandering up and down Bo's body in between slugs from the bottle. 

She's still wet from earlier. It was enough to leave her tender and swollen and she won't be coming down from _that_ for hours. Maybe if she put her mouth on something, something hot and alive, it'd distract her for a while. 

And Bo? For all her backsass, she wouldn't have gotten in the truck with her if she didn't trust Bo at all. She trusts her. Marginally. 

Especially if Tamsin's mouth is pulling her strings. 

She can feel Bo frown at her when she sticks the bottle in the cupholder and bends down. "Tamsin, what--" And then her teeth graze the top of Bo's thigh. Her sentence cuts off with a sharp intake of breath. Tamsin raises her head just enough to meet Bo's eyes, grinning wickedly. Bo's looking down at Tamsin with _that_ expression, eyes gone dark with desire and mouth just slightly slack with surprise. And _damn_ if that look didn't make her even wetter than she already was, a smug little spark of victory threading down her spine. Bo was clearly not expecting reciprocation anytime soon. 

"I think turnabout's fair play." It's easy to make it come out husky, bent at this angle. To look up at her through her eyelashes, let her teeth show as her mouth twists into a smirk she doesn't quite feel. "Unless you can't handle it?" 

Bo rolls her eyes. "Probably better than you can." 

Tamsin chuckles at that; the line of her throat stretches it out, drags it over gravel. It's not quite as impressive as what Bo can do with her voice, but it's far from bad. At any rate, it weighs down the tremor in her own voice, drains it of any hint of panic or weakness. Just lust; no jammed signals here. "Dunno. You might be too delicate for a real Dark Fae fucking. You might not be able to handle it." 

"You have no idea what I can handle." Those blue eyes look through her, boiling electric promise, voice dark, and the nausea falls away from Tamsin entirely. Something in her belly whispers that she wants to know exactly what Bo _can_ handle, and she lets it shows on her face. This isn't the venue for that, though. 

Not that she can't have fun with this. 

"We'll see about that," she promises, and lowers her mouth. 

She doesn't fuck around playing nice; teeth all the way. She latches onto Bo's thigh a few inches below her hipbone, vicious, even a little bit vengeful, because she doesn't like Bo and her muscles are _not_ shaky, goddammit. Focuses on Bo's muscles popping and sliding under her grip as Bo gasps, moves, pulse rising through her body. Tamsin holds the echo of it on her tongue and curses anatomy and GMC equally that she can't get a mouthful of that pulse at this angle. Bo's top shifts, flashes skin hot against Tamsin's cheek, and she smiles, turns her head to the side and rakes her teeth over the bared spot above her hip. It's an odd angle, but the gasp it drives from Bo's throat and the sudden arch of her hips against Tamsin's mouth is worth it. She sets her teeth in that delicate skin, working it with pressure and tongue, and--

" _Shit_ ," Bo swears and jerks upright, and Tamsin can tell it's not a good swear. Her hold releases and she looks up to find Bo watching something intently in the rearview, looking deeply irritated and a little bit panicked. Tamsin twists to look out the back window. 

There's a cop following them. Of course. What's black and white and a complete cockblock? At least they're not pulling her over. Yet. 

She snarls when a hand grabs her shoulder and shoves her down unceremoniously. "Tamsin, get down!" Bo hisses. Tamsin glares murder up at her, but stays down. 

"I _am_ a cop, y'know." She shoots back. "Besides, can't you just put the whammy on him and send him home?" 

"You also have an open bottle of vodka, and my "whammy" only lasts so long. So just stay down. We do _not_ need to draw attention to ourselves." Tamsin rolls her eyes even harder at that, even though Bo's right. They're outside of their territory, undeclared, and drawing attention to themselves can only end badly. _Very_ badly. Especially if one of them is unaligned. But that's why they were sent. Representing all the darker shades of grey. At least, that was how Dyson put it. Stupid wolf-boy didn't even volunteer to come along. She might not forgive him for that. 

Maybe he was onto something. 

She feels supremely stupid, stuck like this. A Valkyrie hiding between a succubus' legs. Literally. And this position isn't exactly comfy. It was bearable when she was making Bo squirm--more than bearable, if she's honest--but now it's just vaguely humiliating. 

The motion is starting to get to her, too, now that she doesn't have anything to occupy herself with. She's still running a buzz--come to think of it, the cab probably smells like alcohol--but the bumps coming through the floor of the truck and the turns translating through the suspension are beginning to turn her brain end-over-end, and all she can do is stare out the window, at the dash, watch the cop trolling along behind them in the side mirror. Her hands flex on empty air, and her stomach twists crazily like she's in freefall. Real freefall is more fun, though. The shadows are starting to flit through her mind again, the tires sound like faint screams, and if she starts thinking of names, she _will_ hurl. 

What she wouldn't give to have her hands on the wheel right now. 

Bo's inner thigh feels feverish against her hand. She squeezes, feeling the muscles jump, her body solid under Tamsin's fingers. Touching Bo is better than distracting; it brings her back into the moment, synchs her up with the pulse in Bo's veins until she feels every twitch, every breath radiating through Bo's body. She's pretty sure this has nothing to do with Bo's powers; she'd feel it. Also, she's fairly certain Bo knows that Tamsin would kill her if she ever did something like that, especially without asking. 

Touching Bo feels... calm? Physical contact is usually dicey for her. And over quickly, one way or another. But this is different. There's the heat of Bo's body, so close to her own, Bo's arm brushing Tamsin's shoulders while she drives. The smell of her, perfume and skin and, faintly, sweat. There's the twinge in Tamsin's back muscles, her arm pressed against the outside of Bo's thigh. It's awkward to be stuck like this, just sort of... touching. Leaning against each other until all of it tangles together. But it's not bad. 

No. No. If there's anything _less_ okay than being carsick in front of Bo, losing control in front of her, it's clinging to her--to _Bo_ , of all people--like she's some kind of anchor. Reveling in this forced contact like it's somehow dignified, like she's not trapped, not powerless, unable to take control, an undifferentiated and somehow unmoving blur of bodies. It's not calm anymore. The falling sensation starts again. 

Y'know what? Fine. If Bo wants to her to stay in this stupid position, then Tamsin gets to have a little fun of her own. See how much Bo likes it. 

Experimentally, she slides her hand up the inside of Bo's thigh to the seam of her leggings, tracing shaky fingertips up along the heat she finds there, silently cursing her hands and hoping Bo doesn't notice while she tries to lose her trembling in the shape of Bo's cunt swollen against the tight material. Tamsin can't hold back a smirk when her fingertips come away slick, though. When the tremor passes into Bo's body, and her hips rock forward. Tamsin pushes back, parting her slightly through the leggings. Heat radiates around her hand. 

"He's still following us." It's kinda funny how nervous she seems about one little cop. Tamsin can see the good country girl through all the black leather; or at least, what's left of her. She knows ghosts when she sees them. 

"Don't worry, succulette. I won't make you lose control." She leans up a little to purr into Bo's shoulder. "Unless you ask." She nips at the skin there and feels Bo shiver. 

"No offense, but I don't like you enough for that." Tamsin smirks. It's a fair enough answer. But they always say that before they beg. 

Elastic can be tricky, but whatever Bo's wearing isn't so difficult to work with. She thought Bo felt hot through the leggings; the bare skin of her hips practically burns against Tamsin's fingertips, and when they reach the juncture of her thigh--

Well, the wetness she picked up through her clothes has nothing on this. 

Sex with a succubus is, supposedly, mythical. Since Tamsin _is_ a walking myth, she's always figured people who said that just never got laid. Now, though, fingers sliding through the slickest, softest skin she's _ever_ touched, all Tamsin can think is that the sex under her hand must be someone's way of bragging, and she's met all the gods personally. Her hand is met with damn near a flood, and one finger slides into the heat of Bo's body like a whisper. Looks like Tamsin's not the only one who got insanely turned on during their last go. A vindictive little thrill runs through her: Bo's wet for her. After throwing a monkey wrench into every single one of Tamsin's plans, thoroughly fucking over her life with her goddamn virtue and heroism and noble bleeding heart, and generally being a pain in her ass. Soaked. Imagine that. 

She looks up at Bo's face, gauging her reaction. Bo's looking stubbornly ahead, checking the rearview from time to time, mouth set in what Tamsin thinks started as a hard line. But it's softened, lips full and this close to parted, and her eyes, while they're still their usual brown, have gone dark with hunger. They haven't lost that edge of anxiety, though, flickering back and forth between the mirror and the road. Good. 

Bo's leggings cup Tamsin's hand around her naturally; her palm rides against Bo's clit with every tiny shift. In a moving truck, that's pretty constant. She pulls her palm away. That'd be too easy. Watching Bo's face, she starts to tease her. 

Slowly, she moves that one finger through the wet heat of Bo's cunt. Goes as deep as she can, curves her fingertip up as she pulls back out, mapping the ridges, the swollen spots, the skin that feels more like water than flesh, and when did she become a poet? Bo's open for her, so open, one finger isn't nearly enough, and Tamsin knows it. In, and out. Finger pushing through the wetness, brushing along sensitive skin here and there, no real rhythm or force yet. Tamsin watches Bo's face flush slowly, feeling her own twist into an expectant smirk. This kind of fucking really isn't her style, but with a cop on their tail--the irony isn't lost on her--she's more than happy to see what kind of trouble she can get Bo into with just her middle finger. And, part of her thinks, the longer this takes, the longer she doesn't have to think about anything else. 

Bo's body begins to close around Tamsin's finger, trying to clench, hold her there. Bo's lips part ever so slightly, and Tamsin can _hear_ it, that first shivering breath through her mouth. Tamsin just keeps it up, pushing her finger in as far as it'll go, pulling it back until she can trace the ring of muscle at the entrance of her cunt, no particular sense of urgency to her movements. Not too much longer, and Bo's hips start to twitch, trying to find a rhythm, or force one. Tamsin's hand is slick nearly to her wrist. 

To Bo's credit, the effort doesn't show on her face before her body's tightened around Tamsin's finger and rocking unevenly, needy for contact, pressure, _something_. Tamsin just keeps her finger elusive, giving her a brush of her knuckle here, a fingertip over that unmistakable spot of rough skin there. But, at some point, she can see Bo struggling. Her throat works as she swallows, her brow creases and smoothes, and that hunger builds in her eyes, draws tense lines on her face. 

Tamsin can't stop the grin spreading on her face. Having Bo The Unaligned Sex Machine humping her hand, hips giving in small, liquid thrusts, trying to hide how far gone she is, sends a rush of power straight to her cunt. 

"You don't have to like me to beg." Tamsin offers through her eyelashes. 

Bo laughs, and even though her voice is shaky, it's taking on that edge that comes with her power. "It takes more than foreplay to make me beg." 

One eyebrow twitches upward, a bit indignant. "Foreplay? In case you didn't notice, I'm up past my knuckles in you." For emphasis, she pushes her finger into the taut skin surrounding it. Bo groans, swaying forward, eyes closing involuntarily. 

"Like I said: foreplay." Bo straightens and looks down at her, eyes gone all blue, lip curled, and Tamsin's stomach flips. Well. This could go places. Outside this truck, even. 

"Alright, then," Heat coils through Tamsin's insides. "Let's see how much more "foreplay" you can handle." 

Bo smiles, and it's all teeth. "You can try." 

After the verbal throwdown, it's a bit anticlimactic, at first. Everything settles down; Bo's determined to draw this out, and Tamsin knows it's damn near impossible once Bo's made up her mind to change the outcome. Still, she's met very few challenges that she hasn't beaten. Tamsin risks a glance back to see if the cop is still following them. He is. Her mouth curves. Even better. 

Even if Bo's an unconquerable sex demon, her natural inclination is decidedly _not_ to hold back. Tamsin's seen succubi before; their forte is more endurance than resistance. The willpower it takes to stay still is all Bo's, and Tamsin has to admit, it's impressive. Admirable, even. Though she'd never say it out loud. But even with her legendary stubbornness, it's not too long before Tamsin can feel Bo tightening around her, starting to move again. She's pretty sure Bo's over her performance anxiety, but she can see her eyes flickering over to the rearview. Tamsin pushes her finger faster inside her, driving her harder while Bo watches the patrol car behind them, breath coming rougher and shorter. 

Now she turns it up, bit by bit; giving just enough force to leave Bo wanting more. Tamsin really hasn't done anything like this in a while; there's never been a point lingering once she gets what she came for, and there's no point in lingering over coming. But going slower, even if it feels weird, is worth it, for the frustration she sees building on Bo's face, the nervousness when she checks the rearview, waiting to see if those lights will start flashing. If he sees them. Soon enough, she's practically panting, gasping and trying to hold it together and look normal while her hips push and stutter and she just can't get enough. A small, needy sound falls from her lips, and Tamsin can feel the predatory grin spreading wider on her face. 

Some mute tension drains out of Bo's eyes, and Tamsin knows the cop's turned off somewhere behind them. 

Screw it. 

Her next stroke is two fingers, curving up hard into the vulnerable spot Tamsin's mapped out with her finger. Bo rocks forward with a choked cry, all relief and need at the same time, muscles contracting around Tamsin's fingers. _Damn_ , that's hot. Bo's body is tight and throbbing, but adding a third finger is easy, muscles sliding around her hand and pulling her deeper. Bo shudders and something like appreciation washes over her face. 

And Bo is definitely not shy about showing her appreciation. Vocally. The harder Tamsin fucks her, the louder she gets, raw, wanton sounds that make Tamsin press her thighs together and rock her hips against the seat and fuck Bo harder, trying to draw more of those sounds out, until Tamsin has to remind herself that she needs Bo to be able to focus so they don't end up in a ditch. This would be so much better stationary. She can't cut loose like this. 

Still, she's not complaining. In fact, aside from the fact that she'd like to be doing this _harder_ , she's having a pretty damn good time. Bo's moaning and clenching on her fingers and her hips are rising to meet Tamsin's hand faster and faster. She's watching the road through slitted eyes, knuckles white on the wheel. Tamsin's pretty sure she's getting close, from the way her breath shudders in between moans, the way her cunt's narrowing around Tamsin's hand like it's trying to push her out. She leans down, towards that bared patch of flushed skin above Bo's hip. 

Bo tastes like sweat and sex, now, blood pumping hot near the surface. She makes a strangled sound when Tamsin's teeth close on her skin, back arching just a little bit. Tamsin can feel the tension singing through her muscles even from here, and goes to work. 

Turns out Bo likes it rough. Tamsin always thought Bo was more of a pillow princess; she hardly radiates _Fae Gone Wild_ (she will _never_ forgive those Kitsune bitches). But here she is, bucking into Tamsin's mouth and gasping, and Tamsin's digging in her teeth just to hold on, sucking to draw out the bend in her back, send her over the edge. Girl's _wild_ , and fucking strong as hell. The burn and strain in Tamsin's muscles as she struggles to hold Bo down makes it feel like a real fucking, and the tightening in Bo's cunt is unmistakable. Heedless of whatever danger it might put them in, she forces her fingers even harder into that space, against that spot. Driving. 

The feeling of victory when Bo comes on her hand is quite possibly one of the most satisfying sexual experiences Tamsin's had this century. Bo's body pulls her deeper while her muscles narrow down almost painfully tight. Her muscles come unstrung, spasm, and Tamsin's arm is soaked well past her wrist. Bo's head falls back and Tamsin keeps going, keeps pushing and biting and sucking, until Bo goes over the edge again, and again, and again. 

One of Bo's hands falls from the steering wheel to push weakly at Tamsin's arm. She stops, pulls her fingers out, and Bo nods, barely able to form words, hips still rolling. 

"Can't--come like that--and drive." 

Tamsin smirks. "Well, you didn't get pulled over. Seems like you're doing fine to me." 

Bo rolls her eyes. Everything's intact. Cool. 

They pull over at the next gas station they come to, and stumble out of the truck smelling like sex and vodka. Tamsin doesn't mind it at all, but she needs to wash her hands. Stale pussy is _not_ sexy on anyone. Though it's probably cleaner than whatever passes for a restroom here. 

Tamsin stumbles a little as she walks around the truck. That position was hell on her back, and the residual buzz is not helping her re-orient. Bo catches her arm with a worried look, but Tamsin shakes her off. 

"I'm fine." She flashes her best cavalier smirk. "Besides, I didn't just come half a dozen times. I'm surprised you're walking." 

Bo gives a wry half-smile. "You're not looking hard enough." The corniness of the line is eyeroll-worthy. 

She's right, though: on second glance, her steps are just a little unsteady, too many right angles. Her low-cut shirt's askew, flashing something black and lacy on one side, framing the flush that's spread across her chest and face. When she turns to the pump, she has to use both hands and yank from her hips to pull the nozzle, bracing her feet awkwardly. Her smile's a little crooked and strained when she turns back, but it's warm, too, and Tamsin _really_ wishes it were irritation or animosity instead, because then she might be able to remember where she put hers. As it is, all Bo does is look at her with that flustered little half-smile, not even flirting, and something skips in Tamsin's chest. She watches Bo struggle a little bit with the nozzle, and, even after the vicious teasing she just put Bo through, all she can think is, it's endearing. How vulnerable she looks. 

She shakes her head to clear the thought. "Whatever. I need a drink." Her voice sounds weird. Doesn't want to come out right. She turns on her heel and walks away, gravel crunching under her feet. It sounds suitably dramatic and final. 

She hears Bo's voice faintly as she's walking through the door; she must've thought Tamsin was out of earshot. 

"Tamsin, you idiot. I worry about you." 

Mother hen. Seriously.


End file.
